


Letters to No One

by cleromancy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Flash Fic, M/M, The Night's Watch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleromancy/pseuds/cleromancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scene from an AU where, before Winterfell burns, Theon flees for the Wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters to No One

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a scenario I talked about with Amanda (tumblr/Ao3 user smilingalwayssmiling) a long time ago. The timelines are fudged. Sorry.

_Robb._  
_You should know that Theon’s come to take the Black. He’s different than I thought; not what I expected. He says if I_ climb _to the top of the Wall, Summer might be coming._  
_I know what you’re thinking, but it’s for the best. We need men here, and he’s hardly the worst of them. No matter what choice he’d made, they’d still have called him ‘Turncloak.’_  
_-Jon._

**

Alone in his cell at the Wall, Theon eats dinner hunched over the small table against the wall. When he finishes, the sun is sinking dispassionately down, so he lights a candle. It casts just enough light for him to write a letter. He's written many letters lately, all burnt instead of sent. He addresses this one to his father. He's halfway through when there's a knock from the hall, even though his door is open. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Theon can see Jon hovering in the doorway. He pretends not to notice him. _Don’t talk to me,_ Theon thinks. _Don’t you dare talk to me._ He doesn’t want to listen to Jon, doesn’t want to forgive him, most of all doesn’t want to be near him. Being so close makes Theon want to collapse in Jon's arms; he hasn’t slept in Jon’s bed in a fortnight. His pride wouldn’t let him. Still, the yearning is enough to make his chest ache. _Don’t talk to me,_ he thinks. _Please._

But despite Theon’s internal pleading, Jon does. 

“I wanted to see you,” Jon says. 

Theon doesn’t look up, continuing his letter. “About what,” he says flatly. 

“To talk,” says Jon. 

“About _what._ ” 

“Your place at the Wall,” says Jon. 

“Lord Commander,” says Theon, still writing, “is keeping to yourself against the rules of the Night’s Watch?” 

“No,” says Jon.

Theon blots the letter. “Has it interfered with me performing my duties?”

“No.” 

“Then fuck off, Lord Commander.”

Jon exhales, long and weary. He rests his hand on the doorframe. 

“I do care about you for more than your capacity to do your duties,” Jon says.

“So it’s my capacity for your cock up my ass you’re worried about?” asks Theon. 

“No,” says Jon simply.

Theon goes very still, staring down at the page. _They said you give me special treatment because you fuck me,_ he wants to say. _They said it’s only reason you haven’t killed me._ He forces himself to continue writing, hoping Jon didn’t notice his pause. 

Refusing to look up from the letter, Theon mumbles, “So what is it, then.” 

“If you’re determined to be alone, you’ll be alone,” Jon says. “If you’re determined to be miserable, you will be. You were making something of yourself here, Theon. Now you’re throwing it away.” 

Theon slams down his quill, splattering ink on the otherwise neat page. “I didn’t ask for this,” he snarls. 

Jon sighs again. “How many men do you think asked to be here?” 

“That means nothing to me,” says Theon. “The men here, they’re _your_ men. They mean nothing to me.” 

It might not be strictly true, but Jon's tranquility makes anger boil in Theon's chest. He won't accept Jon's platitudes. He wants to scream at Jon until he leaves, or yells back, or slams Theon against the wall. It'd be the closest they'd been in days.

Instead, Theon picks up his quill again, staring resolutely down at the letter. He can’t read a word of it. He pretends to write anyway. 

“Now, Lord Snow,” Theon says, scratching nonsense with his quill. “Is there anything else?” 

“I miss you,” Jon says. 

By the time Theon gets over the shock of hearing it, Jon is gone.


End file.
